


Awkwardly unexpected but highly stimulating

by FrenchCaresse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Humor, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Sex Toys, Slightly Dom Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-19 00:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8182526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchCaresse/pseuds/FrenchCaresse
Summary: "It's pink." Mycroft pointed out. Greg rolled his eyes.Mycroft poked a finger at the thing."It's squishy too!" He complained.Greg got up on his knees, towering over Mycroft. He pinched his lover's right nipple until Mycroft gasped and his eyes watered."Well." Greg said in a no-nonsense voice. "Do you want to fuck it?"Or; Greg gets Mycroft a sex toy but things really don't go as planned.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to tag this crack. But it's pretty much a play-by-play of a real life interaction; just, you know, infinitely hotter because it's Mystrade... So I'll tag it humor. Established relationship awkward sex toy fun.
> 
> Written for adults.  
> Let's start with a short prelude.

"So, how was it?"

Mycroft looked up from the crisp news-paper in some foreign language -german maybe- he was reading when Greg barged into his townhouse.

He looked impossibly aristocratic, with his pristine rolled shirt sleeves and a half-drunk tumbler of scotch on the small round table beside him. Every thing about Mycroft Holmes was so... Infuriatingly composed, even in his own home at half-one in the morning. Mycroft was so... posh, sometimes. Everything about him just screamed money and power. Everything, from the tastefully striped taupe chair, to the fucking cheerful fireplace; even the small gold-wired reading glasses perched on his nose ignited a fierce streak of rebellion in Greg Lestrade.

God, Greg wanted to _destroy_ the man, make him sweat and fucking _beg_. Only for him.

He would.

He could.

He had.

Greg kicked his good shoes off, purposely letting them clunk wherever in the inoffensive brown foyer. Mycroft blinked at the wadded up socks Greg dropped too.

Oh. Greg was in _that_ kind of mood tonight. Mycroft suppressed a shudder.

The nondescript tile was cold under Greg's soles, making his calves tense. He stripped out of his jacket, feeling the weight of Mycroft's appreciation like a hand down his spine.

"Okay. The party was okay. " Greg shrugged unhelpfully, leaning a silver plastic bag and it's contents against the wall and running a hand through his short greying hair.

Mycroft simply watched his lover, arching an eyebrow as he folded his newspaper into a long thin rectangle.

Greg held his stare.

"Were there even any other men at the, what-was-it, tupperware sex party?" Mycroft smooth voice was bland, but there was that crinkle by his eyes that meant he was purposely provoking Greg.

"It was a bachelorette party." Greg strode into the living room, unintimidated, and Mycroft admired his sturdy form. "As you know."

Mycroft's seated position created an interesting power imbalance. He sank a bit lower into the cushions, lust like a slow spiral in his belly.

"There were a couple guys there too." Greg was too straight, defending himself and Mycroft deduced him without meaning to. Not a lie, exactly. Hiding something. And proud of it. Excited. Mycroft's breath caught.

Greg walked forward swiftly and dropped a quick kiss on Mycroft's mouth before reaching over him to grab his drink.

"Well." Greg laughed. It made his eyes sparkle. "There were other guys present. They were all someone's boyfriend or husband though."

Greg didn't seem too worried, taking a slow sip of Mycroft's drink.

"It was all couples." He admitted, white teeth catching his lower lip as he savored the liquor. "Straight couples."

"I was the only single guy there."

Mycroft nodded, face inscrutable.

"Shut up." Greg smacked his silent lover's arm. "It's a sex toy party. For a bachelorette. Of course it's mostly for the women. Some of the poor husbands didn't even know anyone, yet they were stuck tasting lube with us and discussing the use of feather ticklers..."

Greg made a face, taking a bigger gulp of what was really fine scotch in sympathy.

"I think my collegues invited me because they feel sorry for my ass, what with the divorce and all, you know?" Greg mused, staring into the fire.

His leg was touching Mycroft's and the heat it radiated was distracting.

Mycroft's thumb rubbed a short unconscious pattern on the arm-rest, the tiny scritch-scritch-scritch betraying sudden unrest.

"Maybe if they knew you weren't a pining straight work-a-holic." Mycroft stopped the sharp words, swallowing with a click.

Greg stiffened and moved away.

Mycroft winced, unusual vulnerability momentarily allowing his features to reflect how tired he really was.

"Sorry." Mycroft repented.

"That was uncalled for, I'm sorry." Mycroft apologized quietly.

Greg's decision to keep his sexuality a secret was a sore point in an unlikely relationship frought with too many landmines.

Greg had considered himself strictly heterosexual for most of his life. It had surprised both of them when the detective had called Mycroft's bluff and actually initiated their first searing kiss, eight months ago.

They shared something now. Their relationship was undefined, both because of Greg's insecurity and Mycroft's inability to acknowledge a partner. The potential threat of terrorist initiative just as much as Greg's heterosexual image meant their relationship was frustratingly secret and unsatisfying.

There was potential for more, companionship and trust and maybe even love, but it was all smothered and stunted with bitter limitations.

Greg placed a strong hand on Mycroft's tense shoulder and squeezed, recognizing the reality of a denied and aching heart in words that were meant to hurt and cut. He swallowed down a retort, anger and acid regret; washed it down with the last of the scotch. Their situation might be less than ideal, but it wasn't easier for either of them. Better to make the best of stolen moments, rather than linger on what couldn't be.

"I got you something. " Greg announced, managing to work some impish teasing into his voice as he stamped down emotions.

"Really. Did you now?"

Mycroft looked much too stoic for someone about to have mind-blowing sex.

"Yes." Greg leaned in for a kiss.

"But you need to get to the bedroom first." He decided, kissing down Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft arched and made a little sound in the back of his throat.

"Naked." He added, biting Mycroft's ear-lobe.

"Yes, Greg." Mycroft's voice was gruff, his trousers a bit tented.

He spent several long minutes indulging in kissing Greg, wet and with tongue, until they both panted.

The couple headed to the bedroom, Mycroft staying back to flick the light off in the living room.

Greg's silver bag crinkled mysteriously and the detective's bum rose and fell cheerily with his steps, clad in navy slacks.

A present.

For Mycroft.

How interesting. Mycroft wondered what Greg might have selected at the party.

The sex-toy tupperware party.


	2. Sexual object exploration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who kudo'd; I appreciate it immensely!
> 
> Mycroft turned out surprisingly human in this one! Not Brit-picked, sorry.

Mycroft was pleasingly docile as he stripped and lay on his back, waiting for Greg.

The detective was excited; his face threatened to break into a smile and he bounced on his toes a bit.

Greg carefully piled pillows so that Mycroft was reclining, half-sitting like an emperor on blue silk sheets.

The bedding was a surprising indulgence, one of the rare luxuries that Mycroft allowed himself. The silk was cool against his naked body; the fabric slid and whispered with their movements.

Greg stared at his lover, trying not to be too obvious about it. God, Mycroft was attractive. Mycroft's body was too pale against the rich jewel-toned sheets, practically glowing in the dusky half-light of the large airy bedroom.

He knew Mycroft was self-conscious about his appearance, but dear lord, Greg found him perfect just the way he was. He recognized how cliché his internal monologue was, yet it was no less true for being sappy.

There was a hint of softness blanketing Mycroft's angles that spoke of too long hours at work and not enough exposure to sunlight. Mycroft wasn't obese, but he certainly wasn't all bones like his brother.

Greg loved Mycroft's physique; he was human, depiste his icy attitude and ruthless logic. Mycroft allowed Greg to see him, in all his naked glory. Greg knew his awe at being so priviledged was obvious on his face, even after months. It made Mycroft turn pink and _that_ , well that just made Greg want to possess him even more.

He wanted to suck love bites all over the Mycroft's back; Mycroft's sides had a few folds that satisfyingly filled Greg's hands when he fucked him. He loved how sensitive Mycroft was when he nibbled on his collarbone, how he squirmed when Greg licked a wet path down his ribs.

Greg leaned his weight into Mycroft to kiss him; his strong hands dug into Mycroft's spread thighs, sparse hairs crinkling under his palm. Greg knew there would be little finger-shaped marks when he pulled away; Sherlock might be the one to flaunt the alabaster perfection of flawless skin but under his suits, Mycroft shared it as well.

No-one knew.

The secret thrilled Greg, sizzling through his veins.

No-one knew how gloriously decadent Mycroft looked when he was drowning in pleasure.

No-one, except Greg.

Ice-man indeed, hah.

The detective growled a bit, possessively going straight for a delicate pink puffed-up nipple. Greg wrapped his lips tight around the nub; he poked the nerve-rich tissue with his tongue, immediately flicking it and suckling hard.

Too much, too fast and Greg knew it; Mycroft's nipples were extremely sensitive and Greg usually took care to be gentle and started with kitten licks and fluttery kisses.

Not tonight though.

Tonight Greg had no patience and Mycroft's hands dug into the sheets as he fought not to push Greg away. Sensation washed through Mycroft's body, riding a knife-edge of _too much_ after a week of absolute denial.

God.

Mycroft panted, mouth open and head thrown back. Greg began to pinch and pull on his other nipple with calloused fingers, his sinful mouth continuing the violent assault on the right one. Mycroft's hips bucked; his penis was unattended and mostly erect, bobbing hopefully over his left thigh.

Oh. Ooooohhhh.

If only Greg would touch his dick, it might make the crackling sensation seizing his belly from the nipple-play bearable...

Mycroft whined helplessly, fighting the urge to grab Lestrade's head. He didn't even know if he wanted to pull him closer or push him away.

Christ.

Greg finally stopped, his eyes dark. He absently ran the back of a hand over his chin, reaching down to give his own neglected cock a couple pulls.

Mycroft shuddered and bent his knees but he didn't touch himself, hands balled into fists. It was _that_ kind of night. The kind of night where Mycroft wouldn't dare cum without Greg's explicit permission.

"So." Mycroft's voice cracked and he licked his lips, tried again.

"What did you buy?"

Mycroft's heartbeat was slowly calming, the concentration needed for speech forcing his brain away from carnal distractions.

Greg's teasing smirk returned and Mycroft's heart clenched with affection, watching his lover stand naked and hard by the bed.

"I got." Greg cleared his throat of it's own residual gruffness. "I got a dildo. An anal dildo."

"Oh!" Mycroft sat up straighter.

"A _vibrating_ anal dildo!" Greg finished with a grand gesture.

Mycroft's face lit up with the possibilities. Intelligence blazed in their hazel; connections, possibilities. The man WAS the British Government after all.

"Does your vibrating anal dildo have a remote?" Mycroft inquired smoothly, steepling his fingers in a calculating gesture at odds with his nakedness.

Greg's grin was triumphant as he announced. "Better. It has _an app._.."

"Come again?" Mycroft sounded a bit choked.

An app? Mycroft's hand stopped it's random exploration of his own chest as he analyzed the implications. Was he meant to be penetrated by the dildo? Or was Greg supposed to wear it? There was a fair bit of switching in their relationship, depending on the night.

And an application? Oh the potential...

Greg was still speaking, his words tripping over themselves with excitement.

"You control the vibrations from your phone, with an app. Frequency, intensity... everything."

Mycroft registered his lover's words, drinking in his animated expression.

"You can be in a different fucking country and do what you want with my ass and oh..." Greg stopped, stared into a far off vision of lust.

"That's _brilliant_." Mycroft hissed. He had never even known such things existed; the marvels of technology were truly astounding.

"Show me!" Mycroft settled into the pillows, looking up at Greg's too-long silence. The detective grimaced sheepishly.

"It was back-order. It will be mailed here within two weeks."

"Ah." Mycroft reached a hand for Greg. They didn't really need sex toys anyway. It's not like their sex life was boring or anything.

"I got you something else too!" Greg's face radiated pure joy and Mycroft just had to fucking kiss him.

"Show me." Mycroft husked again and Greg traced a tender finger down his cheek. Too much, Greg's gaze brimmed with too much adoration, and Mycroft's throat tightened.

Direct eye contact grew too intimate and Mycroft hurt, for all those things they couldn't have, for declarations and... sentiment. Greg's face shuttered with control and that hurt even more. Mycroft wanted to hold him, to say damn it all and pour his heart out; yearned to reassure Greg that the feelings were mutual but he fucking _couldn't_. It would be useless, nothing could come of it and self-preservation dictated his behavior. Mycroft stared at the door, dragging a shaky breath.

Greg broke the bitter-sweet intensity by dumping the contents of his bag on the bed. The motion gave them something to focus on; Mycroft fumbled for Greg's hand and squeezed hard for two seconds. Greg squeezed back and _okay_ ; they were okay, dangerous emotions repressed once more.

"There was really very little choice for men." Greg lamented, grabbing a shiny plastic package and hiding it behind his back.

"Like I said, the company markets for women."

Greg's elbows poked out from behind his back, the childish position at odds with the salt and pepper chest hair that fascinated Mycroft.

Greg bounced on the balls of his bare feet, rocking back and forth with anticipation. Unless that was just an attempt to ease the tension in the red erection that jutted out stiffly from a neatly groomed triangle of hair.

"There was only this option and a set of cock rings- much cheaper ones than yours."

Greg smiled, proudly presenting Mycroft his gift with a theatrical flourish.

Mycroft turned the gaudy package over, confusedly bringing it closer to his face in the dim light to read the lettering.

"It's a... penis sleeve!" Greg announced with fanfare, when Mycroft failed to recognize the item.

He panted a bit, waiting for the light-bulb moment that wasn't coming. Mycroft's expression was flat with incomprehension.

Typical Holmes brother, disconnected from popular culture.

"It's like a flesh-light, but without the light."

Mycroft frowned. Their sex life was perfectly fine, he didn't really see the need for weird products. A penis sleeve sounded... strange.

"It's pink!" he stated slowly.

Greg shrugged, looking suddenly unsure.

"Like I said, it's marketed for women. It's supposed to feel amazing; the best stimulation a penis can get!" He intoned in a ridiculous announcer's voice.

Mycroft continued to look sceptical and Greg's face fell.

"We, well, of course, we don't _need_ to..." He stuttered.

Crap.

Now Mycroft felt like an ungrateful idiot.

"Let's try it! How do we open it?" Mycroft gushed, with maybe too-much enthusiasm, wanting the sparkles to return to his lover's eyes.

Greg peered at him uncertainly; Mycroft smiled encouragingly and gave his relieved cock a few tugs.

A penis sleeve.

It was a gift, one Greg got specifically for him. It might be strange, but it was thoughtful and meant to please him. His reaction was unacceptable. Where were his manners? Of course they needed to try it.

After a second, the happy smirk was back on Greg's face.

"Okay then, let's do this!" Greg grabbed the gift back and turned the hard plastic case in his hands over a few times, obviously contemplating using his teeth.

"Scissors." He decided.

He leaned in for a quick kiss that had Mycroft's heart fluttering before he hurried out of the bedroom.

Mycroft smiled, watching the now-naked buttocks move away.

Mycroft jerked off slowly as he waited, letting his other hand rest heavily on his lower belly. Hmm. Quite lovely tension. Mycroft wanted Greg to fuck him tonight. There was no such thing as a definite top or bottom in their relationship.

Tonight, Mycroft was in the mood to be penetrated. He entertained a brief fantasy of Greg rimming him for hours and was quite aroused by the time the other man appeared.

Greg was red-faced, brandishing a mangled half of the destroyed pacakage.

"Sorry." He breathed sheepishly. "That was tough to get into, good grief!"

Greg shook his hand out until it blurred, then presented it to Mycroft for inspection. There was a deep indentation marring his index finger, surely from exercising too much pressure on the scissors.

Mycroft hummed in sympathy, tugging his standing lover closer to the side of the bed. Mycroft sucked two of Greg's fingers into his warm wet mouth.

Hmmm.

Yes.

Greg's eyes slanted, watching Mycroft as he got into it.

Mycroft's eyes closed and he breathed hard through his peaked nose, obscenely suckling Greg's fingers to the best of his considerable ability.

Greg bit his lip at the suggestive flicks of tongue. Then his fingers were gliding in almost roughly; Mycroft applied strong suction that seemed to resonate in Greg's balls. God, Mycroft's smooth tongue slithered so silky under the pads of his fingers; he could feel his cheeks contracting.

Mycroft began bobbing his head with his eyes screwed firmly shut; a tide of raw desperation suddenly swamped him. He wanted, needed to, please Greg; Mycroft was losing himself, intensely drawn to this one task.

_Make it good for Greg._

Mycroft poked his tonge at the web of skin between Greg's fingers, enjoying his shudder.

Mycroft's dick was absolutely screaming for contact, but he felt distinctly seperate from his own needs. The moment was about Greg, _Greg_ , Greg.

All for Greg, give him the best experience. _Make it good for Greg._

Mycroft's face was blissfully blank as he laved his tongue over his lover's palm, making Greg squirm. Then suddenly he was back to swallowing, three fingers this time.

 _Make it good_ _for Greg_. And no, that wasn´t enough; more, _more_ , Greg needed more, Mycroft needed more.

Fuck.

Mycroft's mind was consumed by the simple focus. The thin skin at the corners of Mycroft's mouth was stretched tight as he added a fourth finger; his mind was at once fuzzy yet somehow still sharply registering all the sensations. The wet on his chin, didn't care, the fabric of the sheets sticking to his lower back as he bent forward, the choked off groans that rumbled from Greg. Every stimuli was registered but it was as if his interface was offline; each sensation went straight into a memory box, by-passing logical interpretation completely.

God, it was good. _Make it good for Greg._

Mycroft moaned deeply, grabbing Greg's wrist when it seemed he might pull away. He moved faster, trying to swallow more, more, more.

Mycroft wanted, _needed_ , more, more, more; wanted to suck Greg's whole hand, wanted to choke on his dick, wanted Greg to fuck his face until he couldn´t breathe.

More, more, _please_ , more; Mycroft realized he might be whining but he was floating in a bubble of need so acute he couldn´t even tell.

"Sssshhh." Greg's voice shook as he slowly pulled his hand away, stroking gently along Mycroft's ear with his other one.

"Christ, Myc." He whispered softly, surreptiously wiping the saliva on his fingers on a pillow. Mycroft looked dazed and vulnerable, hazel eyes dilated to inky circles.

Mycroft blinked owlishly.

"Sorry." He rasped. "Long day. I didn't mean to..."

Greg pressed Mycroft's forehead to his belly, firmly telling his dick that No, this was not the time to get sucked, now was a time dedicated to calming Mycroft.

"S'okay." Greg whispered. "I've got you."

He held Mycroft tight, scratching at the short hairs at his nape; letting his lover come down out of the submissive head space he'd been working himself into.

Fuck the stupid pink sleeve. Mycroft was slipping tonight, Greg had been able to tell even in the living room. They needed something sharper. Mycroft needed the hurt inside to be mirrored on the outside.

Mycroft leaned his head against Greg's abdomen, just breathing him in with his eyes closed. Greg bent over, dragged his hands as far as he could reach down his back. Greg dug his nails in, making red tracks. Grounding Mycroft in thin fiery pain.

Mycroft finally pulled away and Greg leaned over to the bedside table, intending to put the package there.

Mycroft's fingers on his forearm stopped him.

"No." Mycroft said, sounding more like himself.

"You got it for me. I want to try it. Tonight." Mycroft's voice was firm.

"You're sure?" Mycroft nodded and Greg had to kiss him.

Greg found his hand instinctively wrapping around Mycroft's throat as they kissed. He felt the hard cartilage and lean muscle as Mycroft stretched, the nudge against his palm when Mycroft swallowed. Fuck. Greg deliberately removed his hand before his fingers squeezed, struggling to put away the instinctive Dom side of himself that Mycroft was pulling out.

Greg finished with a short smacking kiss, trying to bring the lightness back. Penis sleeves were fun. Sex toys were for light exploration, spicing up their normal.

Mycroft's eyes crinkled at the corner with his answering leer; he gaze was clear and sharp even if his cheeks were still colored.

The very air in the room seemed to lighten.

Yes.

Greg nodded, gingerly reaching to scoop the silicone tube into his hand. It was squishy; heavy while still feeling mushy.

Weird.

He held it awkwardly in one palm, internally cringing at the sensation as he shook out the package with his other.

Nothing happened. Greg squinted at it in the dark.

"There are no instructions." He lamented.

Mycroft arched a crisp eyebrow.

"It's a penis sleeve." He said primly.

"I'm pretty sure you just stick it in. Rather self explanatory."

Greg looked uncertain for a second, then his strong hands were back on Mycroft, pushing him into the pillows. He kneeled by the bed, nuzzling Mycroft's hand away from his junk.

Mycroft sighed in bliss when Greg began to lick at his cock. The lack of stimulation in the last minutes, coupled with how he'd struggled to gather himself, had made him softer; pre-cum shimmered under the foreskin. Greg lapped it up, moaning and Mycroft leaned his head back at the sensations.

God, this was good.

Greg progressed to sucking the head, then the whole shaft; he could manage more than usual, feeling the sponginess expand between his lips. The embers of lust flared in Mycroft's groin and he sighed in relief as his dick grew to full erection. Thank fuck. Greg always seemed fascinated when he got to suck Mycroft when he was softer but it created such an uncomfortably vulnerable feeling in him. Erections were powerful and strong, like Mycroft needed to be.

The blow-job was really really good; it was slurpy and messy and just a tiny bit awkward because Greg couldn't use his hand, balanced on his wrist with his fingers curled protectively around the sex toy.

Mycroft had all but forgotten about the thing, enthusiastically groaning and rocking his hips into Greg's miraculous mouth.

He whimpered when Greg pulled off, then blinked in an attempt at composure when Greg crawled up onto the bed.

Oh, right, _penis sleeve._

Greg fumbled in the covers until he pulled out a bottle of lube.

"Pretty." Mycroft commented at the sleek shiny bottle with the tasteful design, unlike the crass illustrations on the penis sleeve package.

"Sealed." Greg responded in irritation after trying ineffectually to flip the cap a few times.

Which, okay, that was good, _hygienic_ , except it did break the mood a bit.

Greg hopped up to open the door further, allowing golden yellow light to flood them from the side. He cradled the sleeve between his thighs, using his teeth to break the clear plastic on the lid of the lube. Mycroft hardly noticed the sex toy; his lover's dick throbbed visibly, heavy and unattended. How could Greg just ignore such a phenomenal erection?

With a satisfied grunt, Greg flicked the cap with a crisp plastic sound.

Mycroft watched interestedly as Greg fumbled with the penis sleeve, squeezing the sides to make an opening at the tip of the tube gape a bit.

His eyebrows scrunched in concentration and he bit his lip, _oh so endearing_ , as he carefully dribbled lube into the toy.

Mycroft felt vaguely ridiculous, sitting there with his dick twinging, drying saliva from an aborted blow job making the skin tight but... best penile stimulation a man could get right?

Greg swore under his breath as the lube overflowed, running down the sides of the toy and dripping over his fingers. Fuck. Lube was now presumably all over the pricey sheets. Greg thanked the strange slanted shadows the illumination from the door created for hiding any spots in sheets that probably cost a week of his salary.

Mycroft still looked unconvinced when Greg scooted closer to him, rising onto his knees, and staring down at his lover.

Mycroft suppressed a shudder at the effortlessly dominating position.

Fuck.

Now he wanted to suck Greg again.

His brain was all scrambled; it didn't seem to want to register that tonight was about testing a sex toy.

"Ready?" Greg asked, his voice a blend of puppy eagerness with an undertone of command that made Mycroft's shoulders twist. God, they were both trying so hard to ignore the dark pit of need boiling so close tonight.

"It's pink." Mycroft pointed out. Greg rolled his eyes.

Mycroft poked a finger at the thing.

"It's squishy too!" He complained.

Greg got up straighter on his knees, towering over Mycroft. He pinched his lover's right nipple until Mycroft gasped and his eyes watered.

"Well." Greg said in a no-nonsense voice. "Do you want to fuck it?"

Mycroft swallowed.

He sounded perfectly polite when he answered, his voice too calm and impeccably modulated.

"Yes, if you please."

Greg shuddered, fingers clenching convulsively on the toy.

Mycroft hadn't really thought it out much; it was either drag out his professional voice or beg shamelessly and they were both already skirting too close to power-play already. He was determined to keep this a night for fun innovation and sexy times.

Mycroft hadn't anticipated the effect his precise enunciation would have on Greg though. The detective's eyes _blazed_ , and he ground his teeth so hard Mycroft could hear it. Suddenly, it was Greg who was fighting to keep things light. Being reminded of Mycroft's considerable power and self-control was like a fucking challenge to take him apart.

Mycroft stayed perfectly still; Greg drew two heavily aroused breaths that nearly destroyed Mycroft's good intentions.

Greg smiled tightly, exhaling again and Mycroft showed his teeth in answer.

A beat passed, and Greg reached down to stabilize Mycroft's hard-on. They both peered intently as his right hand decended with the penis sleeve.

Mycroft jumped a bit when the cool silicone made contact with his cock-head, slipping sideways in surprisingly high-quality lube.

Greg firmed his grip on the toy, and really, he was starting to understand the need for the light part of the flesh-light; the silicone was slippery, made worse by lube and the length was a bit too long to grab comfortably.

Greg lined the slit in the sleeve over Mycroft's bulbous head, pressing down. He expected the toy to part and sensuously swallow his lover's sensitive organ.

Instead, there was resistance.

Hard resistance.

Greg barely had time to register _what the fuck_ when both the toy and Mycroft's dick seemed to bend rigidly; the plastic sleeve bounded through his fingers to roll onto the bed.

"Ow." Mycroft's eyes were wide and his chest heaved; he pushed Greg's stunned hand away to give his cock a few soothing strokes.

"Sorry. Sorry. I..." Greg fished the pink torture device from the covers, wondering if it might be defective. A few minutes of inspection in the glow from the doorway revealed the problem.

"Ah." Greg announced. He slipped his index inside, and _oh_ , the texture; yes, Greg could imagine how good that might feel... In fact, he was going a bit cross-eyed, imagining how the sensation would be feel on his cock.

"Wrong end! We were trying to stick your dick up the back-side." Greg demonstrated by flipping the toy over and easily sinking three fingers into the wider slit on the other end with a lubey squelch.

Mycroft blinked at him.

Then he blinked again. His eyes crinkled and his nostrils flared.

"What?" Greg began defensively.

"It was an honest mistake! I mean, why is there a hole on both ends if you can only penetrate one, and I knew there should have been instructions..." he trailed off when Mycroft made a strange choked noise.

"We were trying to stick my dick up the back-side?" He inquired in a strained voice. Greg eyed his lover suspiciously.

Mycroft wheezed out "You realize that's pretty much the description of homosexual intercourse, right?" Before he dissolved into giggles.

Genuine, irrepressible humor and his entire body jiggled with the giddy sound.

Greg smiled, then eventually full out laughed as Mycroft hid his face and hooted.

Finally, Greg humphed and got back to it.

Mycroft wiped his streaming eyes.

Sex toys, right.

Surprisingly, Mycroft's dick hadn't lost interest in the proceedings.

Greg stabilized the base, loving the feel of solid flesh between his fingers. He stroked it a few times, just to watch Mycroft's mouth go slack.

"Easy." Mycroft pleaded with anxiety, understandable since he'd nearly gotten his dick broken in half.

"Ea-sy-Oooooohhh." Mycroft's voice took on a grating, tremulous tone as the silicone swallowed his dick.

It was tight and microscopically rough in the toy; the inside of the sleeve was a bit cool with lubricant. The pink materiel offered a tight channel with just enough stretchiness that _ohhh_... The sensation envelopped Mycroft's whole dick like a slick caress.

Greg stopped when Mycroft was fully seated, proudly amazed at how quickly his lover lost his composure.

A single stroke and he was literally putty in Greg's hand. Mycroft might have laughed earlier, but hah. He who laughs last laughs best. Greg was very pleased with his purchase.

"Good?" He asked unecessarily as a faint sheen of sweat appeared near Mycroft's receding hairline.

Mycroft shifted to kiss him and for a minute they both stared at the strange sight of Mycroft's dick buried in a chubby pink plastic tube.

"Move?" Mycroft begged, and Greg realized his lover's thighs were tensing and releasing rythmically even if his hips were motionless. Mycroft, ever the good little sub; keeping still when his body ached to thrust.

Greg smiled and moved his hand toward's the head of Mycroft's dick.

Mycroft let out a throaty groan, sinking low into the pillows. Greg's own neglected dick twitched jealously.

Oh, that looked good.

Greg slowly inched the toy back down and Mycroft arched beautifully, crying out.

So, so good and Greg moved the sleeve a bit faster. The head, he decided. The head of Mycroft's cock was the most sensitive part, so Greg decided to focus the stimulation there. Mycroft stuttered _hah_ , _haaah_ and he jerked involutarily.

Oh yes, this was good, _perfect_ and...

Damn it.

The toy seemed to recoil and leap off Mycroft's dick, bouncing against Greg's leg.

"Oh." Mycroft made a helpless sound at the loss, blinking his eyes open.

Greg muttered apologies, while Mycroft smiled absently and tried to remember how to breathe.

Greg fumbled the sleeve back into position on Mycroft's dick-head, squinting at the toy to make sure he was using the right end and shoved it back onto Mycroft's erection.

Mycroft _yelled_ , overstimulated, scattering the pillows but then he whined desperately when Greg stopped all movement. So Greg tentatively began jerking him off with the sleeve again.

The material stretched and Greg could feel the blunt push of Mycroft's dick inside.

But damn, it sure was a tricky thing to use and it required intense concentration.

The toy was slippery and truly unmanageable. There was no way to get a good grip, and it seemed to have a mind of it's own. Set it in motion and it obligingly bunched together. Pull it the other way and Mycroft sounded like he was dying. But pass a certain undefined point and it seemed gravity, or suction or whatever, took over and the tube collapsed tightly, pushing itself off Mycroft's shaft.

The issue was that there was no way to predict the point of no return; in fact, the spot seemed to move about randomly in the penis sleeve.

What followed was certainly the strangest, most awkwardly unexpected but highly stimulating _hot_ hand-job either man had ever experienced.

Greg sorta got the hang of it, managing a few good strokes that had Mycroft thrashing with loud moans and Jesus, was he going to cum already? Mycroft was usually so impossibly controlled; the penis sleeve really did provide the world's best stimulation if it had him on the brink after less than a minute.

However, it proved impossible to set up a fluid motion like the one Greg imagined in his head. He needed to adjust his grip constantly and it made his rythm falter. It was like trying to masturbate Mycroft with a fish. And fuck if that wasn't the unsexiest descriptive ever but Greg was fundamentally a practical guy. Like a fish, the toy was slimy and slippery, at once solid yet bendy; it jiggled about unpredictably and he almost expected it to suddenly slap him in the face like that unfortunate time with a trout in a canoe with uncle Rich.

He persevered, getting fucking lube everywhere.

It was well worth the effort to see Mycroft red-faced and heaving with his eyes screwed shut. He tried to direct Greg's uncoordinated efforts by grabbing the sleeve from the other side, but that really made things worse. Now neither man could hold the thing with more than his fingertips and it tried to wiggle off again. In a ninja move, Greg let go and then blindly caught hold of the very rim of the tube.

He gave a little squeeze and the toy slithered agressively up Mycroft's shaft, reversing direction and scrunching up near the root of his cock and...

"Fuck." Mycroft gasped, sitting bolt upright.

His cock head had gone right through the smaller hole on the wrong end of the now bunched-up tube.

It poked, rather like a sleepy turtle head, obscene and fleshy, out of the thick silicone on the shaft.

Greg leered then did it again, allowing the sleeve to bulge then firmly compacting it. Mycroft's abs twitched violently and his foot knocked a pillow off the bed though he disappointingly didn't swear again.

Oh, Greg felt evil; the most sadistic horny vilain, torturing Mycroft with sensation he _knew_ was too intense. His lover shook his head wordlessly, _no,_ and Greg gleefully ignored the plea.

He pushed on the sleeve again but that time when the head of Mycroft's cock brushed against Greg's palm, Mycroft gave a violent full-body jerk and somehow that changed angle and Greg lost his grip and the toy bounded away again.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Mycroft was tonelessly gasping the word repetively, denied right on the edge of climax.

Greg felt guilty for letting him down unintentionally, swearing vigourously as he further ruined the sheets, searching with lubed hands for the runaway penis sleeve.

Mycroft's dick flexed a few times, harshly red, but he seemed too surprised to actually finish himself off. The total absence of sensation was just as much a shock as the _too-much_ sensation inside the sleeve; even the whisper of air over his aroused dick caused pre-cum to well up.

"Sorry. Sorry." Greg was back, having found the toy and kissing Mycroft's mouth in hot apology.

Mycroft had regained some measure of brain-power, enough to ask for more lube before they started again.

More fluid dripped everywhere because Greg couldn't be arsed to go slowly and his hands shook; by this point though, neither man cared about destroyed bedding.

The agonizing best-worst hand-job ever continued.

Handling the sleeve was impossible and Mycroft knew Greg was not purposely teasing him when he stopped at the worst possible moment. Greg was furiously trying to get him off, stroking gloriously only to fumble a minute later. Lube dripped down over his tight balls and Mycroft's entire body was flushed and sweaty.

A most unfortunate orgasm denial session ensued.

Greg's breath came in solid puffs and he radiated annoyance. The issue was that he had no more control over the situation than Mycroft did. When he denied Mycroft, Greg was normally giddy with the absolute power-rush of slowing near the crest and making his sub beg desperately. And while Greg certainly did not share Mycroft's penchant for actual physical pain, he did enjoy a good rough buggering that he was helpless to control when in the right mood.

Tonight though, they both yearned to make Mycroft cum but they were being bested by a stupid silicone object.

Mycroft's lungs worked in fits, great breaths followed by trembling stillness and he fisted his hands in the sheets. He was determined to let Greg finish him off with his wretched present but _God_ he was getting desperate.

Good, good, so good. YES.

Mycroft literally squirmed when the toy bounced off again, flexing his toes agitatedly.

Fuck he'd been so close, his balls tight enough to hurt but he couldn't...

FUCK and then Greg's slick hands were fumbling on his genitals and the sleeve was sliding on in one deep push and POP, his cock–head burst through the tight constriction with a teeth-jarring jolt of intensity. Greg found a way to cup the smooth head of Mycroft's hot cock against his lubed palm, rubbing it just so and _oh my, the friction._

God, yes, _yes_ ; Mycroft was going to cum.

His hips jolted and Greg swore, scrabbling not to let go of the sleeve and fucking _fuck;_ he was so close. Mycroft knew his instinctive thrusting was making things harder for Greg but God, if only...

Just when Mycroft let out a resigned breath, the crest so near yet just out of reach, Greg found a good rythm with the sleeve. In, out; the motion was so very reminiscent of fucking. The sleeve was was no longer cold, warm and tight around Mycroft's dick when he breached it, almost like actual human flesh.

Mycroft needed to fuck.

So, so badly.

Teeth gritted, Mycroft got to his knees facing Greg and attempted to kiss him. Mycroft just _couldn't_ remain still and passive anymore, his climax was so goddamn close; he needed to _rut,_ to chase the elusive pleasure..

Greg nodded and shifted to a two-hand grip on the sleeve, trying to stabilize it so Mycroft could hump it to completion.

Yes.

Finally, yes, it was working, he was going to...

Mycroft's abs clenched with his choppy thrusts and he grunted in exertion.

Finally.

Greg watched in fascination as Mycroft let go of all pretense at prim and proper disposition, pounding the toy deperately and Christ, he couldn't believe the animal noises echoing in the room.

A particularly strong thrust inched Mycroft forward on the slippery sheets and the mattress shifted as their knees came too close together, creating a hollow in the the pillowy surface. Mycroft pitched forward, overbalanced. Mycroft's hand clung to Greg's hard biceps and Greg's slippery fingers nearly lost the sleeve, _again_ , and Mycroft fucking growled; frustration shimmered in the air around them.

Mycroft's need was making every nerve in Greg itch, if he could only just...

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Thank God.

Mycroft jolted, finally cresting. Greg had a brief moment of panic because _fuck_ , what was he supposed to do with the sleeve? Could Mycroft ejaculate _inside_? Was that sanitary; how did you even clean the thing?

Mycroft made that little high-sounding hitch that Greg had come to recognize as signaling imminent orgasm.

Greg pushed the sleeve down, packing it tightly on his lover's shaft because he didn't dare let him flood the inside with ejaculate. He watched in fascination as a thick stream of white semen spit from Mycroft's head, splattering Greg's knee with warmth.

The sight distracted him from his toy-cleaning dilemna.

Mycroft's next inhale grated with pain and his nails dug in; little spots of frustration in Greg's forearm.

Greg suddenly felt guilty for effectively stopping all stimulation right on the brink to have a sanitation crisis; he was forcing Mycroft to have a ruined orgasm, fuck. Greg overcompensated immediately, grinding his palm into Mycroft's cock-head and smearing another burst of sperm.

Mycroft yelped as he spurted again and _again_ , a second orgasm maybe; unless it was the first one that had been prolonged? Mycroft helplessly butted against Greg's dripping hand and it seemed he had stopped breathing entirely.

Mycroft shuddered down from the peak, leaning heavy and sweaty on Greg before he pulled away, panting in huge gusts to try and calm himself down.

Mycroft was trembly all over, still spasming with a few after-shocks.

He was utterly, _gratefully_ spent, weak with the relief of it and he let Greg help back down into the sweaty sheets, heart pounding.

Mycroft _shouted_ when the sleeve slid over his cock-head one final time when it was removed. He barely heard Greg apologizing again. Greg was grumbling about the lack of instructions and not knowing if Mycroft could cum in the sleeve because how did you even clean the inside? and other nonsense.

Mycroft tuned him out, spreading his thighs and letting his arms dangle, trying to cool off his overheated transport.

Greg gave his ruddy cock a few strokes with his cum-smeared hand and damn, that was filthy hot. Mycroft forced his weary head up to watch but Greg only shuffled off to bathroom for cleaning duty, leaving Mycroft to float in the bliss of a massive orgasm.

When he returned, Greg pecked at Mycroft's lips, fretfully asking if it was okay if he fucked him. Greg really wanted to take him but if Mycroft wasn't up to it he could wait; his hard dick was doing it's own convincing, frotting against Mycroft's thigh crease.

Mycroft sleepily let himself be turned to his side, letting all the words he couldn't speak shine through his eyes.

Greg smiled rather shakily, then went in search of the lube bottle again, finally locating it hidden between two folds of sticky fabric. He nearly dropped the thing, clumsily juggling it in the air; lube had gotten smeared on the sides of the bottle earlier.

Mycroft chuckled endlessly as a frustrated Greg ranted about lube bottles being so fucking ergonomic and appearance over function and...

Greg promptly shut Mycroft up with two slick fingers shoved firmly up his rectum, instead making a gorgous moan bubble up from his lover's chest.

Prep was quick, Greg intensely aroused from what felt like hours of teasing Mycroft without any touch on his own dick. Mycroft was still pretty out of it, generally incoherent and more vocal than usual with his brain-mouth filter in shatters.

Greg knudged his cock into Mycroft's tight hole just like that, on their sides, and _oh god_ it felt right.

Joined, hot and together.

Honest.

Natural.

No frustrating pink sleeves, just Greg grinding deep then fucking faster as Mycroft loosened, reaching a slippery hand around to stroke him back to hardness.

Mycroft eventually rolled to all fours, allowing Greg to pump more freely. In this position, he could also savor the sight of his hard-on disappearing into Mycroft's body.

Fuck that was hot, so hot, _too hot, OH FUCK._

Greg's orgasm slammed into him suddenly. A blaze of pleasure followed intense contraction that started in his balls and radiated up his torso, punching all the air out of his lungs.

He collapsed over Mycroft, still twitching and buried in his bottom.

Eventually, Mycroft grunted and wiggled away, dislodging Greg's dick, _ungh_. Mycroft rolled onto his back and Greg flopped face-first into the disgusting sheets.

Mycroft waited as patiently as he could while Greg came down; his dick was hard and there was a pleasant ache in his behind. Mycroft stroked his dick slowly, shivering at the wet ticklish feeling of his lover's cum leaking out of him.

God.

Mycroft was flushed but alert when Greg mustered the energy to kiss him deeply. He reached a hand down and took over for Mycroft, who needily threaded his hands in Greg's hair.

"I can use the sleeve again!" Greg whipered between kisses.

He felt Mycroft's lips curl against his own as he answered ferociously "Don't you even dare..."

So Greg and Mycroft kissed some more, breaths mingling until Greg's hand brought his lover to a mercifully straight-forward release.

...

The next morning, Mycroft was already gone when Greg had to get up for work. The coffee-pot waited for him, and the DI smiled stupidly as he trudged through the crisp moist air of way-too-early morning.

Last night had been... interesting.

Awkward.

Unexpected.

But undoubtedly stimulating.

Greg smiled smugly again at the vibration of a text, much much later that night.

 **You did not. I can't believe you did that.** Was Mycroft's message.

Greg's finger caressed the case of his phone with a finger before he composed.

**What? Had to put it somewhere?**

When Mycroft failed to reply, he quickly typed.

**Was already sticky.**

Then

**I think it would gather dust really fast.**

**The package was scrap.**

**Had to put it somewhere.**

**Best solution ;)**

Mycroft replied with a photo.

A photo of his new pink penis sleeve, firmly encased in a clear plastic container on his bathroom counter

 **Ha. Ha...** He'd captioned the pic.

Greg could just hear the condescion dripping from Mycroft's short message. He was sure his lover's eyes twinkled though, Mycroft had a surprising sense of humor.

Greg replied, giggling under his breath even if he was at a crime scene.

**You said yourself, it was a tupperware sex party.**

It was fitting. A tupperware container for the best-worst sex toy ever invented. He was pretty sure Mycroft intended to try it again, reverse the roles, as soon as possible.

And that wasn't even the end of Greg's adventures into sex toy buying!

God, Greg couldn't wait for the vibrating anal dildo with an app.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I do not have Mycroft Holmes' budget so I did not get the vibrating dildo with an app. Guess this will remain a one-shot!
> 
> Xxx
> 
> FrenchCaresse

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist a light dusting of angst, sorry... Next up is pure cracky sex.  
> Xxx
> 
> FrenchCaresse


End file.
